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Some one, no doubt, was coming to see how he was to urge him, if he felt better, to go down and join the smokers. Cautiously he opened his door; yes, it was young Rainer's step. Faxon looked down the passage, remembered the other stairway and darted to it. All he wanted was to get out of the house. Not another instant would he breathe its abominable air! What business was it of his, in God's name?
Haven't you got a quill somewhere?" Mr. Balch, who spoke slowly and as if reluctantly, in a muffled voice of which there seemed to be very little left, raised his hand to say: "One moment: you acknowledge this to be ?" "My last will and testament?" Rainer's laugh redoubled. "Well, I won't answer for the 'last. It's the first one, anyway." "It's a mere formula," Mr. Balch explained.
The lodge-keeper, stammering: "I'll ring up the house," dashed out of the room. But Faxon heard the words without heeding them: omens mattered nothing now, beside this woe fulfilled. He knelt down to undo the fur collar about Rainer's throat, and as he did so he felt a warm moisture on his hands. He held them up, and they were red. ... The palms threaded their endless line along the yellow river.
"Wall Street can stand crashes better than it could then. It's got a robuster constitution." "Yes; but " "Speaking of constitutions," Mr. Grisben intervened: "Frank, are you taking care of yourself?" A flush rose to young Rainer's cheeks. "Why, of course! Isn't that what I'm here for?" "You're here about three days in the month, aren't you?
Lavington continue; and as Rainer's face lit up, the face behind his uncle's chair seemed to gather into its look all the fierce weariness of old unsatisfied hates. That was the thing that, as the minutes laboured by, Faxon was becoming most conscious of. The watcher behind the chair was no longer merely malevolent: he had grown suddenly, unutterably tired.
He was just dimly aware of young Rainer's exclaiming: "Your turn, Mr. Grisben!" of Mr. Grisben's ceremoniously protesting: "No no; Mr. Faxon first," and of the pen's being thereupon transferred to his own hand. He received it with a deadly sense of being unable to move, or even to understand what was expected of him, till he became conscious of Mr.
Some one, no doubt, was coming to see how he was to urge him, if he felt better, to go down and join the smokers. Cautiously he opened his door; yes, it was young Rainer's step. Faxon looked down the passage, remembered the other stairway and darted to it. All he wanted was to get out of the house. Not another instant would he breathe its abominable air! What business was it of HIS, in God's name?
No one was speaking when he entered they were evidently awaiting his return with the mute impatience of hunger, and he put the seal in Rainer's reach, and stood watching while Mr. Grisben struck a match and held it to one of the candles flanking the inkstand.
"Wall Street can stand crashes better than it could then. It's got a robuster constitution." "Yes; but " "Speaking of constitutions," Mr. Grisben intervened: "Frank, are you taking care of yourself?" A flush rose to young Rainer's cheeks. "Why, of course! Isn't that what I'm here for?" "You're here about three days in the month, aren't you?
He caught up the pile of newspapers and began to glance through each in turn for the headline: "Wills Admitted to Probate". In the last of all he found the paragraph he sought, and it stared up at him as if with Rainer's dying eyes. That THAT was what he had done!
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